


To Soothe the Savage Beast

by Sulla



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-29
Updated: 2010-12-29
Packaged: 2017-10-14 05:24:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/145833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sulla/pseuds/Sulla
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An answer to the sherlockbbc_fic kinkmeme on Livejournal.  It is as follows:</p><p>Mrs Hudson's herbal soothers have two effects on Sherlock when he steals and smokes them - firstly, they make him horny. Secondly, they make him unable to get off.</p><p>So high, giggly Sherlock pointlessly dry-humps the sofa, until John comes home and says "What's going on here?", being dry-humped in retort. And because it can't culminate in an orgasm, it ends with John distracting him with Chinese food.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Soothe the Savage Beast

"Yoo-hoo, boys?"

Sherlock, sprawled dramatically on the couch as he was, arm over his eyes and head throbbing like someone is using his brain as one of those stress-reliever balls, moaned piteously in response. He would have prefered to ignore the woman, but he feared that if he didn't answer her call, she would call again, and _louder_. Sherlock didn't think he could even bear the thought. Worst of all, John was out, so there was no chance that he could deflect her friendly advances.

"Sherlock? Oh you poor dear. How is your head?" Mrs Hudson queried from the doorway.

"Like your every word is an atom bomb," he murmered in response.

Mrs. Hudson tutted. "If you'd be willing to take one of my herbal soothers, you'd soon see results! Let me get some for you."

He could hear her padding downstairs, then a good deal of mumbling and the sounds of drawers opening and shutting. Sherlock wondered if perhaps an icepick through the eyeball wouldn't be preferable. But she soon returned, with what appeared to be two plastic-wrapped sweeties in hand.

"Take just one of these, Sherlock, and then another tomorrow morning if you find you need it." She placed them on the end table near his head, and left, closing the door as silently as possible behind her.

Sherlock by this point was desperate. Anything, _anything_ to stop the pain. Whilst still reclining, he took one of the soothers and unwrapped it, peering for a few moments at the opaque, muddy-green square. He put it in his mouth - and then promptly spat it out into his hand. Vile! It tasted horrid. He glared a few moments at the evil thing. He was desperate. He placed it back in his mouth and chewed vigorously, swallowing the fragments as soon as possible. Each movement of his jaw jarred his aching head anew. he stared at the remaining soother.

Screw whatever the landlady said. This was a _monster_ of a headache. He unwrapped the other soother, put it in his mouth, chewed as fast as possible with his face twisted into a mou of disgust as he forced the soother down. He washed his mouth out with a quick swig of water from the cup he had nearby, and lay down again, pulling one of the couch cushions over his face.

Oh god, would the pain ever stop? He closed his eyes and wished for death.

*****

Sherlock tossed and turned in his spot on the couch. His headache had retreated into a soft, gentle throb; still there, but just barely. However, he now felt as if he had a fever. He felt as if he was flushed head to toe, and soon he begain to notice that he was getting an erection, which now began to throb in time with his head.

Taking the pillow off off his head, Sherlock relocated it to between his legs with a silly smile. John was out; no better time for a quick wank. He rolled over so that he was straddling the pillow, and begain to thrust his hips into it, digging his cock into the cushion. The pain in his head retreated even further, and the fullness of his erection increased.

It slowly dawned upon Sherlock what a picture he must make. He was lying on the sofa in his robe and nightclothes, humping a pillow! Good god, if John came home now, he would never live it down. Giggling to himself, he pictured the look on his flatmate's face should he happen upon this scene.

"Sherlock? I'm..." Above him, at the door, fresh from outside and staring at the detective mouth agape, was John.

Yes, and that would be the facial expression he had been thinking of. Sherlock began to convulsively giggle, all the while still molesting the cushion with his hips. Oh, he was so turned on, but release felt so far away...

John had flushed from the neck up and turned away from the scene Sherlock was making on the sofa. "Uh, Sherlock, is there something wrong?" he asked the kitchen table, hands on his hips, back to Sherlock. When no reply was forthcoming beyond quiet giggling, John slowly turned back to face his flatmate. "What on earth are you doing?"

More giggles.

"I am trying, John, to come."

John, smiling slightly, nodded. "Yes, I can see that! But why, may I ask, are you trying to do it on our couch? And, most importantly, why _on earth_ in front of me?"

Sherlock rolled onto his back and, tossing the cushion aside, placed his hand on top of his clothed erection, lifting his hips into the motion as he pressed down. He locked eyes with John, eyes merry and yet somehow oddly glassy, "no better place, John, and no better audience!"

John stepped forward and placed his hand to Sherlock's flushed face. He was warm and sweaty, but not feverish. "Have you taken something? Or are you ill?"

Before he could step away again, though, Sherlock had grabbed John's hand and pulled, bringing his flatmate, who was already unbalanced from leaning over, crashing down on top of him with a yelp. In fact, John now found himself sitting directly on Sherlock's lap. He tried to bounce back up immediately, only to find himself held fast where he was.

"Sherlock - Sherlock, stop this. Let me go," he spluttered, struggling against the other man's hold. Then he came to an abrupt halt. Sherlock was not sitting still. No, it was more that the detective was now flexing his hips upwards and against John's buttocks. Both lean, lanky arms wrapped around the shorter man as Sherlock cuddled him from behind, giggling madly all the time.

"Mmmm, you feel good. Warm. Solid. Smell nice," observed Sherlock, burying his nose where John's neck met his shoulder. "Smell much better than Mrs. Hudson's herbal soothers taste, I can tell you that..."

John slapped away Sherlock's hands, which were growing bolder by the second, and were heading in alarming directions. "Stop - stop that! Do you realize how inappropriately you're behaving?"

Sherlock didn't deign to rely, only continuing to stroke his flatmate's body wherever he could reach. John tried another route. "So you've taken her soothers? And this is their effect?" John felt Sherlock nod against his back while his hips continued their actions. "And how long have you been going at it, Sherlock?" he enquired.

The detective pouted, suddenly unnervingly child-like. "Forever. I can't come!"

Well, that was enough for John. He took Sherlock's wandering hands and made them release him, allowing him to stand up. For a moment Sherlock's hips continued their movements, seeming to attempt to make love to the empty air. John went back to the door, where he had put down the bag he had been carrying when he arrived. He picked it up and opened one of the containers it held.

Sherlock perked up, sniffing the air. "You brought take-away!" he cried, jumping up, unnoticing or uncaring of the prominent tent in his trousers. He made a grab for the opened bag.

"Mmmm, pork wontonsmmmphf..."

John smiled to himself wickedly. The best thing about intoxicated people, his genius flatmate included - absurdly short attention spans.


End file.
